There Are No Coincidences

Sometimes life is just really, really good. Everything just works in synchronization like a well oiled machine. Even parts you didn't know NEEDED to work together do.

My very favorite saying is "everything happens for a reason." If I haven't found anything else to be true in this life it is that. I challenge you to think of events in your life and question what meaning they had. Even the events that we consider to be the most traumatic, the most stressful, the most heartbreaking had their purpose. It is unfortunate for those who don't ask themselves what that purpose was. But today I am not questioning the purpose of any negative event in my life, but reflecting upon the awesome occurance of great moments that some might consider coincidental.

Redefining Superhero After Personal Earthquakes

I have always said that I don’t set goals, and that is true to some extent. I don’t do like many people and have a committed list of things I want to accomplish or things I want to achieve. However, there have always been visions of what I want to be like. When I was in high school I didn’t have a chosen career, but only knew that I wanted to live in New York, wear a suit and have a successful “career.” Later, when I did land a job outside of college (in my Southern hometown light years away from New York) I still never was able to say “I want to aspire to that job.” It wasn’t until I was in that job that I realized I had landed where I wanted to be. And as I look back I realize that there were people, leaders, that I watched all along the way and created my vision based on lessons from each of them.

When I was pregnant I had a “vision” of what I wanted to look like as a mother. I guess one might say it was the hippy soccer mom! I wanted to demonstrate and inspire creativity and openness in my children while setting a supreme example of a powerful woman for my daughter. (wish I’d thought to look at all the ways I might fail in that example!)

Then one day I saw a vision that allowed me to marry my two loosely defined goals in the form of an article in Working Mother magazine. There was a profile of a “successful career woman and mother.” It is only now that I can laugh at the depiction of this woman or even the image that it conveyed. For how is success truly defined of either? That was the last time I read that magazine; I had gotten what I needed from its contents – my new vision, my new goal.

I can’t even remember what the woman did, something political perhaps. What I do remember is that the focus was on her schedule. It went something like this:

5 am – wake up and have coffee and write plan for the day, put dinner in crockpot

5:30 am – run 2 miles on the treadmill

6:15 am – shower and dress

7:00 am – wake kids and make breakfast

8:00 am – drop kids off at school

8:30 am – breakfast with a client

9:30 am – arrive at office and answer emails

10:00 am – board meeting

11:30 am – lunch with prospective clients (en route to destination make follow-up calls and schedule parent/teacher conferences)

1:00 pm – Return to office and work on upcoming proposal

2:30 pm – pick kids up from school and drop in for quick meeting with teacher

4:00 pm – back to the office to follow-up on board meeting action items and delegate remaining proposal sections to team for completion

6:00 pm – have quick dinner with family

7:00 pm – drop children off at dance and soccer practices. While kids are in practice have coffee with friends

9:00 pm – read bedtime stories and tuck children into bed

10:00 pm – check children’s homework, fill out forms to be returned to school, unpack lunchboxes, layout clothes for tomorrow, do a load of laundry, respond to personal emails , clean kitchen from dinner

12:00 pm – get into bed and read a few minutes of one of three books currently reading before falling asleep

I read that and immediately thought somewhere in the depths of my mind that I wanted to be like that. My thought was “Wow, look at everything she does!” She is amazing. She does it all. So, although subconsciously, that became my guiding light – to be like the profile in the magazine and have a daily schedule that personified my ability to do it all and keep all the fires burning. When you think about it my goal wasn’t as far-fetched as it now sounds. Young women are given thousands of images everyday of these superheroes, so much so that there are books written on the sometimes fatal side effects of these overachievers. The message is clear – do it all or you’re a failure.

I read that article many years ago, so I’m sure there are missing and incorrect pieces of the schedule. But, it isn’t too difficult to dictate the times or events – I only have to go so far as to look at my own daily routine. I guess you could say I have arrived at my destination – my goal has been met. I once received one of those annoying forwarded emails that was about the difference between a man and a woman and it outlined a schedule much like this except it was the difference in what happens when a woman says she’s ready to go to bed and when a man says the same statement. The gist was that a man goes straight to bed, but there is a whole agenda that follows a woman’s desire to fall into the sheets. The friend that forwarded the message put in the subject line “this is you.” I took it as a compliment.

Sadly, when I arrived at my destination I eventually realized what was missing from the article and my own story as well. Notice that nowhere in that schedule or routine is there mention of her husband or any other support system. In my young, naïve, awestruck interpretation I didn’t know enough to be able to know that there was one in the background – somewhere. Hell, it could have even mentioned that, but that was background noise to me – all I could hear was HER crack of thunder. A couple of years and a personal earthquake later I finally realize that no person can accomplish these things without a support system. And that most of the time you have to reach out and (gasp) ask for that help and support. Be it a husband, wife, parents, paid assistants, childcare or all of the above. The fact is she wasn’t doing it alone. She couldn’t. Or maybe she could, but not for very long… as I soon found out.

So when I set my mind to the goal I thought very little of what I needed from my husband, or from anyone for that matter. I was going to be woman and people were going to hear me roar. And essentially that is what happened. Over the years my career progressed, I had another child, I started to become involved in dance and fitness, I grew a social circle of amazing girlfriends, I scheduled play dates and birthday parties, I put all of the organization tactics into motion (make weekly menus, lay out clothes the night before, etc. etc). Multitasking became my birthright. Through it all I kept a pulse on my marriage (or at least I thought I did). Having read all of the books I knew the importance of maintaining your relationship, making time for dates and always communicating. I knew these things were important, but I went about them all wrong.

I never once said to my husband “I need you to…..” I hinted, or conveyed that it would be nice. But I never laid the blueprint for my needs.

I want to rewrite this article for every young woman, mother, grandmother and overscheduled female to read. Maybe someday my message will be clear. Sisters, all of this is within your grasp. Each and every one of us has the ability to be an amazing mother, a devoted wife, a giving friend, a loving daughter, a pillar of our community, a familiar face at the PTA, and the head seat at the conference table. However (and that is one heavy ass however, let me tell you!), there are so many things we must realize about our limitations. How many articles have we all read in that preach the “me” time rules. What they nor us understands is how incredibly hard it can be to demand that “me” time or any time that might make our super capes come floating down around our perfectly toned hips. We view asking for help as the ultimate sign of weakness, regardless of if we are strong enough to admit it. We only just read “Every Sunday morning I have an hour to myself to gaze upon the rising sun and reflect on all I’m grateful for.” (and blah, blah, blah) Person quoted doesn’t get the opportunity to say “It took me 10 years to be able to demand that time for myself.” Or “When I take this time I have to realize and accept that 2 more loads of laundry back-up in that very moment.”

So, I’ve determined my own list of “It’s OKs”

It’s Ok to

- Invite your friends over only to have them realize your house is LIVED in

- Buy cookies for the school Halloween party; sugar is sugar to those chubby little fingers, they really don’t care where they came from

- Let your children dress themselves and not match

- Gain a pant or suit size

- Say “I’m escaping to my room” and just lay there in the darkness when you do

- Tell your husband you need nothing more than to be held

- Find utter and pure joy in buying yourself a new CD, or book, or nail polish

- Only do laundry when it’s absolutely necessary

- Have PB&J sandwiches and potato chips for dinner

- Beg, plead and scream for the help you need and deserve

Oh ladies, I could post pages and pages of “It’s OKs,” but the message is simple. We can all be superheroes, but only as long as the first person we save is ourselves. Until we know what brings us pure joy and balance and make their presence our primary goal we are destroying instead of creating. We’re destroying ourselves, visions of balance for our children, love in our relationships and promotions in those so sought after careers. But when we can learn and live our own list of “It’s OKs” and experience joy every day we are able to create. Create balance , beauty and harmony around us…. It will make you a superhero!

Cooking mishaps and dancing in the rain

In my whole life I have never had a cooking mishap like that of Friday night! One time when I was newly married I fell asleep with BBQ chicken in the oven - but it just became more like chicken jerky than causing any really damage. What happened this weekend was a WHOLE other story.

I don't know about other dual income families, but for ours Friday greets us with a total wreck of a home. We are able to sustain whatever organization we found over the weekend until about Wednesday and then it's downhill from there. This week we got a new refrigerator (that adventure may be a whole other post all by itself!) so the situation was even worse than normal. Friday I came home with determination in my fingertips - I would accomplish organization come hell or high water. The hell and the high water came in the form of a smoke filled house and a smell that rivals that of a grease pit!

With the choo choo resounding in the back of my head "I think I can, I think I can" I set forth in my task. Having just bought a pack of construction paper that would supply a small preschool class, I thought setting little man up at the table with a craft project would buy me ample time to cook dinner. (Princess and daddy were at horeseback riding lessons) But then just when I think I'm smart I have to go and try to be brilliant. I would let him play "puter." I suppose the overachiever in me just couldn't be satisified with cooking dinner, running a load of laundry and cleaning the kitchen at the same time... nope, I had to make THIS the evening that I make my child do something interactive instead of being mesmerized by his army of friends on Sprout! I'm sure there are millions of perfect computer games out there for a three year old, my little man always seems content with the one's he plays at maw maws, but NONE of them are in my house. After perusing the Calliou, Blue's Clues, Elmo and Boohbah discs and discovering that none of them were ones he could navigate without my undivided attention I gave up. "Come on buddy, want to go watch Sprout?"

And we walked into the kitchen in to the beginnings of my creation - a grease fire. Prior to my computer game discovery hunt I had began preheating olive oil for Kung Pao Chicken and stifry, which had then became three rooms of smoke that painfully filled my lungs. I turned on fans, opened doors and calmly proceeded to prepare said dinner. What I would have never anticipated is that now, two days later, the smell of my near tragic experience still lingers. I've distributed every essential oil I own (and there are many!) throughout the house in every conceivable way, I've burned every candle and sprayed every dissenfectant. I've even let every fathomable surface soak in Clorox. IT WILL NOT GO AWAY!

But alas, there are approximately 14 more hours left in my weekend and although it began in flames, it has turned out pretty darn well. Thank God I'm an optimist. Come 2:00 on Saturday I had most of the house clean, next week's menu planned, the school year calendar updated, and bookbags packed for school to begin. I was ready to reward myself with some downtime at the pool. My family emerged from our front door to a blacked sky that was about to open up the flood gates. The rain came. The rain came fast, hard and furious. I looked at my kids in their bathing suits and downturned faces. "Want to play in the rain?" I asked. They looked at me like my ears were rolling down my shoulders or something. Probably trying to ascertain if their mother had gone crazy. "Really?" aksed Ms. Logic. "Yep, take off - do whatever you want!" And they did.


Watching your kids do something for the first time is nothing short of life changing. As adults we simply don't know that level of pure and innocent joy. Well, I would argue that we do know it we just don't allow it to be present. I wanted to join them, but my energy was spent so I reveled in their delight from the sidelines. What I learned yesterday as I watched my little ducks in the rain was what it truly means to seize the moment. I am thankful for my lesson and hope that I am alert enough to know when the next opportunity arrises!

My Vital Friends

Sometimes life sends you signs of your true blessings. This week I was lucky enough to realize what a miracle it is that I have such tremendous friends in my life. There is a book by Tom Rath called Vital Friends: The People You Can't Afford to Live Without that alludes to the fact that most people have many friends who each play different roles in your life. I find this to be so very true. As I think through my family of friends I realize that each of them came into my life at a time that our connection was pivotal for the situation we each found ourselves in at the time. That, to me, is powerful justification that we were brought together by a a higher being and that our crossing paths were purposeful.

The power of girlfriends cannot be denied. Some call us catty, obnoxious, gossipy, etc. etc. Whatever! The next time you enter a coffee shop and see a circle of women crowded around a table or gathered together around the park bench at the playground or at the vending machines of the office rest assured that they aren't solving the world's problems, but they are moving mountains among their emotional selves.

At one point in my career I was lucky enough to have met two of my very best friends on this planet (you know who you are!) and every morning we would meet in the hallway of the office and have our "water break." It was in the halls that we would help weather each other's storms. We always seemed to land outside of one man's office and he once passed us and said "I don't even want to know who ya'll are talking about every morning." We replied that we had so much drama between us that we didn't have time to talk about anyone else.... and goodness how true that was!! Let me just tell you... on those water breaks we uncovered everything from perfect hangover cures to how to breastfeed and cook dinner at the same time. (There was a lot of other material shared that quite frankly will never leave my lips - or fingers.) But you get the idea.

When it comes to a conversing group of women we are partaking in our own personal therapy. We're laughing. We're crying. We're bitching. And most importantly we're living and discovering our true selves. There are no limits to what we will talk about and what secrets we will share. If it takes a village to raise a child it takes a circle of friends to become a wise, old woman.

Today I am thankful for all my sisters and the abundance of joy they bring to my life. Without them I would be a lost and lonely soul. Look for us today gathered here and there and everywhere navigating mommyhood, womanhood and overall greatness. And in 30 years you can look for us and still find us; the conversation will undoubtedly change but the power of our circle will be the same. Cheers to my sisters, I love you all!

A #2 Pencil Makes Me Feel Smarter

Remember #2 pencils? Thank waaayyy back if you have to. They were orange and we used them back in elementary school. And if you didn't have one to write on the paper housed in your Trapper Keeper then you certainly used one when taking the dreaded CATs! Sometime around middle school everyone started using pens and mehanical pencils and the boring and conventional #2 lead pencil was replaced with these fancier more colorful options for penmanship.

Recently a very basic, super traditional yellow #2 pencil found it's way into my fingers as I looked for something to write with upon my desk. I'm not sure how long I've had it or even where it came from. After jotting my note I glanced down and realized I liked the way my writing looked at the tip of the lead. Reaching behind my chair, I plugged in the historic pencil sharpener and fed it my refound discovery. Now, writing with a pencil is one thing, but writing with a newly sharpened pencil is like a black bean burger when you haven't eaten all day (okay, that may just be decadent to me and a few others....). I can't explain it, but I just feel so darn industrious when I write with my sharpened #2 pencil now. I haven't allowed any other utensils to accompany me to meetings since my rekindled love of good old fashioned lead. You should try it.

I guess its the writer and reader in me that has always been estatically drawn to all things pen and paper. I find that a new notebook to take notes in or a pen (or PENCIL) that makes your handwriting look a little more eloquent is a high caliber of motivation to kick myself in gear. As the kids head back to the classroom and back to school shopping takes flight I wonder what these generations will find exciting to stash in their bookbags. I fear it will be laptops, smartphones, and such - and I gues I'm willing to accept that. Maybe they will find a new font for their texts or a skin for their device that makes them feel industrious and smart! Just let it be something or we may be in danger of loosing a whole generation of inspriation...

Suffocating in domestic and corproate frustration...

Today, and this week in general, I've found myself acutely aware of my environment, my creativity and life in general. Poems seem to flow out of me, song lyrics vibrate through my body and touch me at the very core, dances are freely choreographed in my mind. This heightened awareness became crystal clear as I was riding along today and witnessed the fading sun accompanied by the clouds that one can only dream of laying upon and feeling their fluffiness. The sight of such beauty made tears form in my throat and my spirits soar. I thought of how the world is filled with so many variances of appreciation. Some fear sounding flighty at taking notice of the beauty of our Earth, some claim to appreciate God's gifts but really are just trying to fit in, and others take absolutely no notice. For those I feel most sorry.

While I welcome this state I find myself in this week I'm almost glad that the intensity of it isn't constant. It is so very difficult to live the life society has deemed appropriate for the working career mom and wife and also embrace the longing and need to get lost in my thoughts and creativity. It is grueling to focus on a presentation of statistics when they seem so trivial in light of a God given desire to create. It is depressing to wash, fold and put away laundry when all I really want to do is let Yanni's Reflections of Passion inspire movement with my daughter. The daily routine of drop offs and pick-ups are overshadowed by the impulse to explore that opening in the trees just off the road I travel each day. It's tiring - fighting the urges and desire to just be.

It is now 9:37 pm, long past the hour when my kids should be in bed and I too should be prepared for the day ahead. But, in reality, I know that the night is just beginning for my unconventional family. It will be past midnight when our house rests completely and "not a creature is stirring." What can I say? The wife and mother who resides here wants to do it all, many times in one day, and I pull my family along for the ride. So, while other kids are dreaming of bouncing on those clouds I so admired this afternoon, mine are about to embark on one of mommy's crazy adventures. Tonight we will hold hands and dance in a circle; our soundtrack will be "What a Beautiful World."

All about the skirt

I wore a skirt yesterday. That is not unusual, or even noteworthy, since I wear a skirt or dress almost everyday. I hate pants, shorts, skorts, capris, jeans, and everything else of that nature. I am highly thankful for those before me who had the courage to shed their skirts for the comfort and ease of pants, because it is certainly more convenient to chase a child up the playground at Chick-fil-a in something that doesn't give the world a peep show. But, for the most part, I find skirts and dresses to be so much more comfortable. Maybe it's the way I'm built or maybe it's all in my head, I couldn't say for sure.

There are two items of clothing that I find to be right there next to PJ's or your birthday suit when it comes to comfort - the wrap dress and the broomstick skirt. Yesterday, on a beautiful Southern Sunday afternoon I wore a white broomstick skirt. I love it. It is white and so elegantly beautiful (at least I think so). But, the thing is that as comfortable as I am in these skirts I always feel like I'm oddly on display. Like the whole world is saying "look at her, she is so wide and doesn't care about how she looks." Because, let's face it, as beautiful as they are, broomstick skirts don't really flatter any body shape over a size 6. But put me in the backyard with the grass between my toes and the feel of the soft fabric against my legs as the wind slightly picks up and I feel like a nature queen. It is then that I forget about how I may or may not look and just love my skirt :-)

As I was walking through the grass and watching the kids play I also realized that women who often wear said skirts have a different walk. Their gait is slow and laid back with their pelvic tilted slightly forward. It isn't the bouncy step of enthusiasm or the determined pace of a career woman - it's relaxed. And it's dictated by THE SKIRT! Without consciousness you walk sort of differently because that helps to not get tangled in that beautiful fabric. Strategic positioning of the feet and legs with each step ensures that you aren't going to step on the skirt or have it unattractively wrap around your legs. Now, one might say, you REALLY would rather deal with all this than throw on a simple pair of shorts?!? The answer is yes - all of this happens subconsciously and at least I can still breath in my free-flowing skirt that does not constrict any part of my torso.

Before I dressed for bed I asked my husband what he, and men and general, really thought of these skirts. There was a pregnant pause as he formed a suitable answer in his head. I know he doesn't like them, but it had been a few years since I asked. "I think of a hippy," he replied. Hmmm. Is that good or bad I pondered? I have always considered myself to be a bit of a "hippy," but I also know he generally doesn't find barefoot, long-haired, broomstick and flower wearing women to be instinctively attractive. So, in wearing my skirt am I being thrown into a whole genre of spirits with negative connotations by everyone I meet? Why the hell do I care?

Jesus! It's a skirt! How does my brain get off on these useless tangents? Wait, is it useless? Is this important information for one to ponder in the world in order for there to be peace among us?

I don't know... I just know I love my skirt because I can!

I want to turn the channel

Yes, I consider myself to be a fairly creative individual; forever seeking peace and inspiration and so forth. But I cannot escape the occasional funk, which is what I find myself in right now. In the series TrueBlood Tara's mom refers to alcohol as demon water (or something to that affect). Feelings of being overwhelmed are my own personal demon water. I wish I could bottle it up and pour it down the toilet - an exorcism of the negativity brewing inside of me.

I am keenly aware of all that I COULD do to be my own saving grace. Yoga, meditation, writing, dancing, reading a book, or practicing the art of doing absolutely nothing. But as I look around me at my toy-cluttered environment and the mountains of laundry or realize that I need to pay bills, return emails and phone calls and prepare for my son's birthday party my spirit literally shuts down. The off switch has been flipped. Instead of tackling any piece of the to-do list, and thus moving towards productivity I do NOTHING. Well, unless you call wallowing in self-pity SOMETHING.

*Sigh* I will stop with the melodramatics now. I guess I did turn the channel just by sitting down and hammering out the thoughts. I'm now settled in to the "Get your ass up and do something channel." Those of you who are reading my rambling thoughts, I love you for your dedication to listening and am eternally grateful for you handing me the remote. XOXOXO

Atta Girl!

I just had my 2nd quarter PIP review with my boss. In the world of NR, PIP stands for Partners in Performance. Call a spade a spade - it's an evaluation. I'm sure most people face this time of year with about as much excitement as a root canal. But I'm different, always a little on the nerdy side. I like PIP reviews. Let me explain.

I've worked at the News & Record for 9 years and worked for 13 managers during that time (it is suspect that I'm on track to hold a record for working for the most people in the shortest amount of time). I have to say I've taken a little bit of knowledge, sometimes just a nugget, from each of these leaders. (and in some instances I would use the term "leader" loosely) Wouldn't it be bliss if I could take all the good qualities and build the perfect boss? I suppose that is what I've tried to do as I've become a team leader myself, although I'm certain I've failed on many occasion. My inability to be detail-oriented or follow a schedule will forever haunt me and anyone in my wake - some things we will just never be good at. Face it, folks!

Anyway, I now look forward to PIPs because it is the one time my current boss is forced to engage in what motivates me... I'm talking feedback! Good ol' fashioned "you're doing great" or "you really could have done this better." Some people need money or prestige to stay focused and accomplish their goals. But nothing gets me more excited about a task or project than being reminded of my own potential. It may be childish, if not a touch narcissistic, but what can I say. After 9 years, letdowns, accomplishments and 13 leaders I've learned how I need to be led if I've learned anything.

So how was my PIP? It was good! In an industry and building that feels like it is on life support it was uplifting to talk through what I had accomplished the first six months of the year and all that there is left to do. I got my pat on the back and transcribed the message to be "you've done a good job at doing these things, now do these other 6 and you will finish the year with a bang!" Yeah, that isn't exactly what was said, but it's what I needed to hear. Perception = Realty!

Yikes! I'm an Adult

I prefer to live life with the spirit and amusement of a child. Over the years I've found that this mode of thinking makes life a lot less stressful and a heck of a lot of fun. Of course, my husband doesn't always agree with my philosophy - especially when I have moments of thinking it's perfectly okay to ditch all those adult-like responsibilities and play all day. But I've always been a believer of the saying "you are only as old as you feel." (or is it "act?") Either way - I vow to stay young at heart!!!

But this morning I was shockingly aware that I am an adult. Not old, just an adult. My 30 minute commute is my time of uninterrupted reflection that I don't wish to trade, and it was during this time that I had this adult-like feeling. This morning the first stop on my commute was dropping my 7-year-old daughter off at the Eastern Music Festival Kid's Camp. Perhaps it was the rain making me feel all dreamy and nostalgic, I don't know. But the first aha moment came when a song of yesteryear blared from my newly organized IPod (I spent much of the weekend redoing my songs and playlists). I hadn't heard this song in many years and was taken back to when my husband and I purchased the CD.

I was very pregnant with our daughter and it was a snowy night. Bundled up in my husband's over sized fleece pullover, I hoisted me and my belly into our truck. The kid in him loves to go 4-wheeling in the snow and I reluctantly tag along in most instances. The truck was only a couple of months old and it was complete with leather seats and seat warmers. Since birth I think I've always been a "hot-natured" creature and rarely find myself with a chill - but that all changed when I became pregnant and would find myself wrapped up in a blanket in the middle of August. On that cold, dark night that heated seat was a little slice of warm heaven to my cold bones. As the song played this morning I was taken back to that feeling of comfort; my loving husband singing beside me, my growing baby resting against my ribs, and being cradled by a warmed leather seat. Sadly, I think at that time in my life I did feel old. I'd become bogged down in the details of the day-to-day and forsaken my carefree spirit and zest for life.

Fast forward the purchase of a home, the birth of another child, the development of many blessed friendships, and a lot of soul searching and I am extremely glad life has come full circle. So I guess that one finds themselves in the body and mind of an adult when they are able to look back and see how much they've accomplished - both emotionally and tangibly.

My beautiful angel in the backseat didn't let these adult feelings end in with memory of her daddy's truck. As we pulled into the Guilford College campus little M's teeth began to chatter. Like me, this is her reaction to nervousness.

"Are you nervous, sweetie?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"What if all of the kids are mean?"

My heart sank and then soared in one breath. I felt for her having to venture into a strange room and approach faces and personalities unknown. Experience tells me that this will not get any easier for many, many more years to come. But my heart soars as I remember my own camp days. I too ventured to music camps at universities, although I was older and they were overnight camps. Those weeks of meeting new people, gaining exposure to new environments and new ways of thinking were nothing less than awe-inspiring. Like a kept animal breaking free from it's cage, I roamed the landscape and soaked in the creativity around me. I longed for that freedom to be permanent; I viewed future days spent on a college campus as my ticket to spiritual and cultural growth. Little M is too young to feel quite this way about her experience today, but it is a stepping stone; one of many experiences that will shape her curiosity and interests and the woman she will become. As I think about the roads she will travel I suppose the ones I've entered and exited are distinctly clear now that I am an adult woman. Ahhhh, what a long, strange trip it's been!

Exchanging ink and paper for keys and screens!

Today I found myself bedridden and had what I think people call free time! Musing around Facebook landed me on a friends blog (Alina, hope you don't mind my taking your lead) and I was inspired to use these few rare hours to create one of my own - make a public home for my random thoughts, poems, and meanderings. The added benefit is my friends will be saved from a few rambling emails when I'm in need of an audience for the antics of my wandering mind. I read once that an artist craves an audience and feedback for their work, so I suppose that is what I'm seeking.

For years I resisted the electronic written word and refused to abandon the satisfying feel of pen and paper. The impetus of the crisp pages of a journal or stationary and the act of matching stationary to the receiver are undeniably gratifying. But two kids, a career, sisters to love, a home to clean and hobbies to explore have taken their toll on my available time to savor writing moments. I've made peace with writing, musing and journaling electronically with the understanding that for now it is the only way to scratch the itch and free the words from my head. Perhaps, one day, I will be able to venture onto a porch overlooking a body of water in my retirement home that will welcome my children and their families. There I will ease into my chair with that crisp paper as my canvas and the pen as my brush - the tools of my creativity. I will write of my past, of my present and the beauty of the earth before me. I will send letters of love and encouragement to all those that enter my thoughts. Until that day, I will exercise my writing muscle with fingers to keys as I DANCE THROUGH LIFE.....

Janis Joplin Defines a Mommy

Some people’s memory cheats them and others, like me, remember so much that it sometimes seems to be a curse. I’ve often been teased that I can remember the day I was born. Seldom do I forget the details of an event, a place, a gathering – even down to what people were wearing and always what was said. But sometimes all the memories connect and help you define your life in some ways.

When I was 13 years old I developed a mad crush at my piano concert. His name was Travis and he was the older brother of one of the other students. He was 5 years older than me, in fact. I shared my love from afar with my mom and she admired my taste and opted to contribute to, rather than discourage, my interest. She decided we should visit the Italian restaurant where he worked. I was giddy.

We asked to be sat at his table when we arrived and spotted him in the back. I can’t say that I said a whole lot during his visits to our table, but my mom was always a good conversationalist and picked up the slack. When he began writing our order in his black ticket holder my mom noticed a picture glued to the back of his folder.

“Wow, you like Janis Joplin? I’m surprised you know her music,” my mom commented.

I don’t remember what else they said about the musical icon. What I do remember is that was the night I was introduced to the singer that would be present in so many memories for the rest of my life. On the way home mom explained to me who Janis was and how she was an icon of the sixties. She spared no details. She told me which songs were her most well known, that she played at the Monterey Pop Festival and Woodstock, that she was part of the Haight-Ashbury scene, her nickname was pearl, that her drink of choice was Southern Comfort and that she died of an overdose. She also took this opportunity to share a bit of pop culture history. It was then that I also learned about Jack Kourac and the beatniks and the beginning of the hippy generation.

Shortly after that night she bought me my first Janis Joplin CD, Pearl. I was in love. I stared at the picture of her on the cover and her feathers and boas and wanted to be that flamboyant. I longed to feel that sure of myself and my style. (Something that was not exactly embraced by my small town peers.) Pearl quickly became the soundtrack of my youth.

The lyrics to Me and Bobby McGee and Mercedes Benz could be found on every notebook I owned, complete with flower and peace sign graffiti. I would sing Me and Bobby McGee in my room night after night and perfect my sultry, drunken duet with Janis – convinced I sounded exactly like her.

As I became older and a teen of the 90’s I embraced my old soul and lived my life in a fashion I like to think of as “Janis-like, but with boundaries.” I broke away from the popular crowd of cheerleaders and honor roll students and found my way into the hearts of those who longed for the freedom I did. Freedom from our small town and freedom from judgment. I read the Janis Joplin biography written by her sister and did my senior term paper on the life of Janis Joplin. It was then that I understood my connection even more. We shared a longing to break free from the judgmental strains of small town suburbia and to express ourselves freely through clothes and music.

And then I met Angela. She was my living Janis. My soul sister and kindred spirit had arrived from Oklahoma to my English class. The day I saw her she wore a patchwork sweater and a pouch of crystals around her neck. And then I glanced at her notebook and saw Janis Joplin and Led Zepplin lyrics. I couldn’t talk to her fast enough.

At our first “sleepover” Angela and I stayed up until sunrise talking and reading from a book of questions. I had never felt so connected to anyone. Over time we shared our connection with Janis. For us to join together for a Janis song was an emotional experience and one that few understood. When we went our separate ways to college we would call each other and sing Janis over the phone together. And for many years we would sing together even after years of separation. We were reuniting with Janis just as we were each other.

Later, after the birth of my daughter, Janis became an outlet for me to remember when I was that young girl so full of hope and spirit. I would sing Me and Bobby McGee to my tiny infant and envision the day we would sing it together – hoping that she would find the same joy in the song as I had.

Six years and the birth of a son later I had that day. It was an early fall evening and I was feeling on the verge of frustration with the antics of my offspring. We were driving home from dance practice and I decided I needed to tune them out. (Obviously I’ve let go of mommy guilt issues). Anyway, that’s what I did – with Janis. Just as Angela and I had so many times, I was putting my soul into the songs. When I eased into “la da da la da” I paused. The kids were completely silent and my daughter was humming the tune quietly as she does when she’s memorizing the words to a song. At that moment an overwhelming feeling of connectedness came over me. In some small way I felt that I was still that girl full of hope and spirit – and even if I wasn’t I had children who were. When Me and Bobby McGee ended she asked me to play Mercedes-Benz three times. We sang it together soulfully in our driveway, in the living room and through all the nightly routines. I guess its funny what some of us determine to be life’s defining moments.

Seasons of the Heart

Reflections of the soul are found in the beauties of the earth

What is found in nature mirrors every aspect of our selves

As each leaf, cloud and ray of sun glimmers with uniqueness;
so do we

The seasons present the senses with new indulgences

Snow, color, sun, water, fire, rain, grass, flowers, dirt, wood, darkness

How is that different than the varying seasons of our heart and soul?

Emotions are our internal seasons, shorter lived and more fleeting than those of the Earth

I find myself melancholy and am reminded of the rich colors of fall

My heart is without wind or rain, but vibrant with the reds, browns and gold

Experiences that have made me whole remembered fondly

Today I am a ladybug of spring

Exploration invites me to move through life full of awareness

As my mind grows restless I take flight to what experience awaits my presence

Once there, meandering with awareness resumes

My flower is just ahead

Beckoning me to touch it, smell it, feel it… it exists to meet my desires

Winter has come too soon

Shadows cast over my soul creating a darkness from which I cannot escape

Pain falls upon my heart, the heat of my skin melts each snowflake upon landing

Motionless

The flutter of ladybug wings fall dormant

When the sun shines upon the darkness masking my heart

Its flaws are visible.

Cracks, chipping bark; but promise of budding beauty

Picture the open heart when the sun shines upon it and sprouts blooms from its branches

The heart is full and giving

Laughter rolls in as the incoming tides of joy in my soul

The love I’m capable of spreads its rays out from my fingertips

I wish to warm others with my smile

Cover them in a blanket of hope when their day is a storm caught ship

I am love, I am hope, I am joy, I am free

I am summer, I am winter, I am spring, I am fall.